


Social Cues

by firefaux



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Crossover, Multi, Other, Reader Is Not Frisk (Undertale), Reader is not gendered, Sans (Undertale) Has Issues, Stardew Valley - Freeform, because he's basically shane and shane has issues, even though this is technically sans/reader my love for undyne is pure and strong, this isnt even that shippy they just have a conversation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-02-23 11:36:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23677516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefaux/pseuds/firefaux
Summary: You're starting life on your grandpa's old farm, and having a pretty good time of it overall. The valley is gorgeous, farming is satisfying, and the villagers are sweet and welcoming. Except Sans, who seems to be putting in a lot of effort to avoid you. That's fine, though - he can't keep dodging forever.-stardew valley crossover because as most people tell me, if you want something written, you have to write it yourself.
Relationships: Sans (Undertale)/Reader
Comments: 24
Kudos: 90





	1. The Lake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was the result of quarantine and a stardew valley binge, and honestly i don't actually consider myself a writer... this isn't all that much but i hope y'all enjoy it regardless. no one can tell me sans isn't basically shane except less mean and more cute. no beta, we die like men. also idk how the tags and ratings work so i apologize for that.

On your first day in the valley, Mayor Asgore stands on the doorstep of your cabin, awkwardly handing you a bag of parsnip seeds and apologizing for the buff blue fish woman suplexing boulders with wild abandon on your property. The fish woman then proceeds to introduce herself, insult your house, call you a punk, apologize for insulting your house, and advertise her carpentry business in quick succession. You’re a little blindsided by the absurdity of the situation, but mentally file away Asgore’s advice to introduce yourself to the other residents of the town and get to work planting the parsnip seeds.

After that, you head into town and hit up the general store, which is run by a very sweet family of bunnies. You buy an assortment of seeds and convince a small bunny child that yes, you are indeed a real human, realizing a little belatedly that that was a weird thing to have to do. You exit the store and take a winding path through the town, intent on greeting as many people as possible and confirming your suspicions. A dog couple having a picnic, a little dinosaur monster on the playground, a green fire elemental reading a book, a cheerful blue bunny selling ice cream, Asgore tending to a personal garden outside his home — and sure enough, not a human in sight. You get back to your farm and keep planting, wondering how on earth your grandpa’s letter failed to mention such a detail.

The next week is spent watering the plants and clearing out the debris on your farm, with the occasional trip into town. You hear that Asgore’s birthday is coming up, and forage a small bouquet out of the valley’s many colorful flowers. It’s not much in your eyes, but he traps you in a fluffy and bone-crushing hug nonetheless. By the second week, you’ve hit a comfortable farming stride, and all the cheerful faces in town are no longer unfamiliar.

In fact, you’re pretty sure there’s only one person you’ve yet to introduce yourself to. Most of Grillby’s regulars tell you that Sans is never away from the saloon for too long, but every time you catch so much as a glimpse of him, he seems to disappear just as quickly. You’re starting to think he’s avoiding you on purpose, but when you voice this concern to Undyne, she just shrugs as if to say “who knows,” and then easily gets distracted with throwing Papyrus over the pool table. Whatever scoring system they’re using for this particular game of pool is lost on you. After some internal debate, Alphys pulls you to the side and attempts to reassure you. She’s not very good at it. She runs herself in circles trying to be tactful, until she finally slips up by saying you shouldn’t take it personally because it’s probably just because you’re human. She immediately realizes how NOT encouraging that actually is, and proceeds to put her foot further in her mouth while saying that’s not what she meant. You know Alphys is made up of only good intentions, and you end up reassuring her instead, promising that you’re not gonna take it to heart or tell anyone that she said this to you.

You’re a little miffed, but you reason that everyone else has been exceptionally kind to you and your luck had to run out somewhere. You resolve to give Sans the space he wants, and do your best to keep your promise to Alphys.

It weighs on you.

But as the days pass, it weighs less.

Apparently, the trick to finding Sans is to stop trying to find him. You spend most of the day working as usual, and are close to calling it when a little white rascal of a dog appears out of nowhere and demands to play fetch with your axe. You spend the remaining daylight chasing it through the forest like a lunatic, and are relieved when it drops your axe and disappears into the underbrush. You grab the axe, catch your breath, and make your way through the forest under the dim light of the night sky. The turquoise glow of the lake just south of your farm catches your eye from between the trees, and you adjust your course to head directly for it, thankful for having found your way out of the forest.

You don’t spot him until you’ve well moved past the tree line. He’s sitting on the edge of the dock, braced on his arms but slouched heavily, almost sinking into his worn blue hoodie. He looks tired, or maybe just lost in thought, and the light of the lake makes the whole picture even more ethereal. You stop, feeling like you’re intruding somehow. That’s quickly replaced with annoyance — you’re just trying to get home, damn it. It’s not your fault he’s decided he needs to dodge you constantly just because you’re not a monster, and it’s not your responsibility to ensure that he can do that, either. You resume walking with almost vindicative purpose, and by the time you reach the foot of the dock you’ve whipped yourself up into a frenzy. Change of plans. You’re going to introduce yourself. You’re going to introduce yourself SO damn hard right now, he won’t know what hit him.

You step out onto the dock, footsteps echoing across the silent lake. He sits up a bit straighter, surprised by the sudden noise, and slowly turns his head to look at you over his shoulder. You steel yourself and put on your best friendly face.

“Hey! You’re Sans, right?”

“that’s the one,” he says slowly. The pinpricks of light in his eye sockets look you over. “and you’re, uh…” You think he pauses so you can give your name, but he cuts you off before you can do so. “walking through the woods at night with an axe.” He seems to be grinning, but his eyes narrow. You feel very much like you’re being scrutinized, until he winks. “that’s not weird.”

You chuckle a little breathlessly and toss the axe on the shore.

“Not weird compared to the day I’ve had,” you say, making your way to where he’s sitting. He makes no effort to hide the fact that he’s watching your approach closely, but you’ve already decided that no amount of prickliness on his part is going to stop you. Perhaps he realizes this, because he turns away once you’re close by.

“sorry. if i, uh… took your spot. or something.” He says this, but makes no move to give you space on the edge of the dock.

“Not at all.” You give your name. “I’ve been hearing a lot about you from your brother. It’s nice to finally meet you,” you say, extending your hand. His expression rapidly shifts from surprised, to wary, to unreadable. But after a moment, he shakes your hand. You’re too busy marking this off as a win to think about how strange his hand feels in yours.

“hope paps wasn’t too much for you,” he says. That feeling of being judged comes back, but at least you can kind of rationalize the protective sibling angle. Luckily, you don’t have to stretch the truth in any way to answer correctly here.

“Are you kidding? He’s an absolute delight,” you say. Your smile is probably the most genuine it’s been all day.

“heh. yeah, that’s true,” he says, and his grin looks a lot more sincere when his eyes crinkle up at the edges like that. He shuffles away from you, and it takes a second for you to realize that he’s making room for you to sit. It’s late and you have to be up early tomorrow, but… you’ve already made it this far. You take off your shoes and sit.

“The lake is gorgeous,” you marvel. At night especially - the light is otherworldly. “How does it glow like that?”

He shrugs, “the algae, i guess? dunno. not a biologist.”

“Does algae normally glow in the valley?” Your question comes off as teasing before you realize that that very well might be the case. He takes it in stride, though.

“no. but the echo flowers do.”

“Echo flowers?”

“yeah, the talking ones?”

You shake your head, no clue as to what he means.

“little blue flowers. repeat the last thing you say over and over. guess they, uh. wouldn’t have them in the city.”

“Nope,” you say, intrigued. “There’s a lot we don’t have in the city, though.”

“i’ll bet,” his shoulders shake in a silent chuckle. “meeting all these monsters must be a trip.”

“I —” your mind blanks for a moment. “That’s not what I meant,” you explain hastily, although looking at the way Sans is grinning, you don’t think he meant anything negative by it. “Although, kind of, I guess. In a good way.”

“don’t worry. think everyone was really excited to meet a human, too,” he says.

_Except you_ , you think, then promptly chase the thought away. You don’t want to dwell on that now, especially given that this conversation is going about as well as it could be.

“Guess you guys don’t get new people very often, huh?” you say instead. It’s a completely inconsequential line, a question you both know the answer to. All you’re doing is keeping the conversation light and easy, but it’s impossible to miss how quickly his expression turns haunted.

“yeah, uh. it’s…” he stares out at the lake, struggling through his words. “first new thing to happen in a… a long time.”

You blink, confused. “I can imagine,” you say, studying him. You resist the urge to wave your hand in front of his face. Not knowing what else to do, you keep talking. “That’s pretty nice too though, that kind of close-knit community.”

He turns back to you, regaining his relaxed and cheerful demeanor so fast, you feel whiplash. “i’m sure you’ll fit in in no time,” he says. It would be reassuring if not for how different he looked a second ago.

“Thanks.” You pause, unsure. “I hope so.”

“think i’m gonna call it a night, though,” he says, standing up. You’re taken aback, but you still notice how his hands shake before he hides them in the pockets of his hoodie.

“Oh, okay, uh —”

“see you around,” he says, winking again and beating a hasty retreat out of the conversation and off the dock.

“You….” you turn around to watch him leave, but when you turn, he’s somehow completely vanished. “…too.” You’re stuck for a minute thinking you’ve imagined the whole encounter, until you look down and see the trail of his wet footprints on the dock. They end halfway to the shore.

You make your way back to your cabin, running through the short encounter with Sans over and over, wondering what it was about your words that made him bolt like that. Eventually you go to bed and drift off, unable to find an answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you actually made it to the end of whatever this nonsense is, THANK YOU and i hope you enjoyed. i don't write much, this is genuinely my first time writing fanfic of any kind. i have no clue if i will actually continue this or not (i've got some loose ideas but not really a coherent plot or anything).
> 
> please leave a comment if you enjoyed, if there's any mistakes, or you have any suggestions, literally anything.


	2. The Mountains

The spa, apparently, is fully operational. And just… exists now? You’re not sure how long it’s been here. You’re not sure how long _you've_ been here, standing at the pool’s edge and staring at the cerulean water, the interplaying lights and shadows that echo off the walls. Somewhere, something splashes, and you’re shaken out of your stunned state. Ah, you… you were debating getting in to soothe your aching muscles, but held back on account of having no towel or bathing suit. That makes sense. Another time, you lament.

You turn and leave, following the only available path back outside. You’re a little concerned that you don’t remember having come in here in the first place, and the unfamiliarity of the locker rooms makes you even more uneasy. That unease turns to dread as you step outside and realize the sun has almost completely set.

“Aw, shit…” You really gotta get home. You set off at a rapid pace that is halted almost immediately, when you pass the corner of the building and see Sans leaning back against the wall, breathing heavily.

For a moment, you both stare, mirroring each other’s surprise. Then you wonder how a skeleton even breathes to begin with, and he looks like he’s got some sort of question about you in equal measure. 

“Sans. Hey,” you finally say.

“hey. late-night swimming?” An attempt at casual, but you’re not gonna begrudge him for it.

“Didn’t have a towel,” you say.

“aah.”

“Did you… know this was here?”

“what, the spa?” He asks. You give a stilted nod. “yeah, undyne cleared the rockfall out a couple days ago.”

“It’s like… fully operational.”

“yeah,” he says measuredly.

“Who runs it?”

“uhh… nobody?” 

“It just runs by itself?”

“yeah.”

“Huh.” You’re getting used to the idea that “magic” is the reason for most of the incomprehensible things in the valley. 

“alph runs maintenance and stuff on it occasionally,” he continues, sensing your dissatisfaction. “but that’s about it. ’s built on top of hot springs.” That explanation is significantly more acceptable to your human brain.

“Ah, okay. That’s cool,” you say. “Well, it’s getting dark out, I’m heading home.” You’re intending to give him an out for a quick goodbye, but he pushes off the wall, burying his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and walking to you. He hides some sort of piece of paper in his pocket, but you ignore it. It’d be rude to pry.

“yeah, ’s late, i should be getting back, too.” He stops in front of you and you realize he’s intending to walk back together.

“Oh, uh… okay, cool.” Very smooth. You grimace to yourself. Sans hasn’t noticed — he’s glancing over his shoulder intermittently as if he expects something to come down from the mountains and attack him. You walk.

You round a corner and descend down the stairs, putting the spa out of view, and he relaxes marginally. You’re about to ask him what he was searching for, but he speaks first.

“so, the luau’s happening soon. you decided what you’re gonna bring yet?” 

“Not yet,” you say.

“ooh, you should bring the peppers you’ve been growing,” he says. You search him, curious.

“Really? Those are spicy.”

“yeah, they’d be great.” You kind of doubt that, but he keeps talking. “paps is making the base with a bunch of tomatoes, so it’d go well. like a… warm gazpacho.”

You make a face. “So… tomato soup?” 

“it’s totally different,” he says confidently.

“Is it good?”

“sure.”

A beat. Your confusion mounts.

“I— is it, or isn’t it?”

“i mean. sure,” he shrugs, but he’s grinning like he’s amused by your distress.

It makes you feel silly, but it also catches you enough off-guard that you relax. You roll your eyes. “That’s a ‘no’.”

“hey, now. i like it,” he says, faux-indignant. Or maybe he’s being genuine — it’s very hard to tell. You study him for a moment.

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not,” you finally say.

“guess you’ll find out at the luau,” he replies, with way too much mirth.

“Alright,” you say, voice even, “I’ll bring peppers.”

“sweet.”

“But if it’s horrible, I fully intend to throw you under the bus for it.”

He clicks his tongue. “bus is out of service.” 

“Then it will only hurt a little.”

He chortles at this, gleeful at your returned fire.

To your left, the mountain path falls away to cliffside and the village below. The lights in the windows of everyones’ houses give the whole town a cozy feel, even as they disappear slowly as people turn in for the night. To the right, the massive expanse of forest stretches out menacingly. You notice something, and turn to Sans.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask, who lives in that tower over there?”

“…tower?” Sans asks, clearly baffled.

“Yeah, that one over there.” You point westward, where a single dark spire juts out just slightly above the treetops. “It must be super deep in the forest, ‘cause I only ever walked by it once, when I got lost.” Sans scans the horizon where you’re pointing, head tilted. “It had a wooden sign with a bunch of random symbols on it,” you add.

Sans starts. “symbols.”

“Like little pictures? Some hand gestures. Smiley faces. I dunno.” They really were kind of bizarre, but you don’t say so on the off-chance that it’d be rude. Sans is already looking at you like you’ve grown a second head. The silence drags. You begin to feel awkward again.

“i, uh… don’t see the tower,” he finally says.

“Oh. Yeah, I guess it’s pretty dark…” you say. You can drop it. Maybe you’ve hit something he’d rather not talk about.

“no, uhm. i’ve never seen the tower,” he elaborates. 

“Oh. Really?” Now you think you’re more confused than he is.

“yup. is it always there?”

“Uh, yeah? I think so?” 

Sans nods to himself, seeming lost in his own thoughts. You don’t press, allowing the walk to continue in silence. The mountain path curves downwards, turning into a long set of wooden stairs carved into the dirt that runs over the highway tunnel and down to your farm. You descend, absorbed in your own thoughts. Maybe whoever lives in the tower doesn’t actually come to the village? Maybe there’s more magic stuff that you don’t understand? You realize you forgot to ask him what he was looking for back by the spa, but… the moment’s passed, you guess.

You get halfway down the staircase before realizing that Sans hasn’t followed, and turn back. He’s paused at the top, looking out over the valley one more time as if hoping to finally spot the tower. He doesn’t, if his dispirited sigh is anything to go by, and he drags himself down the steps. You wait for him to catch up. The view of the valley below disappears as the tree line rises to meet you, bringing with it dark shadows and a chilling breeze. You’ve stayed out much later than you should have — getting up in the morning is going to be a pain. You say as much to Sans, and he chuckles.

“really? i fully intend to sleep until at least noon tomorrow.”

“We can’t all be so lucky.”

“aw, don’t tell me you can’t take even one day to sleep in.”

“Crops ain’t gonna water themselves,” you shrug.

“wow,” he says, equal parts impressed and distressed. “please sleep in one of these days. on my behalf.”

“I’ll think about it, but no promises,” you say.

“alright, i respect that.”

You lapse into a silence that finally feels comfortable, if a little resigned. When you make it to the bottom of the stairs, you step out of the forest and into the pale light of the night sky. You look up to an airbrushed canvas of purples and blues, on which the stars scatter in a dizzying array. You stop walking. Of all the mystical things you’d seen in the valley so far, you think this might still be the most beautiful.

“don’t get stars like this anywhere else, right?” Sans murmurs beside you. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him looking up too. You hum in agreement. “probably my favorite thing about living here.”

“I don’t blame you,” you say, voice low to match his. Your cabin is just a few paces away, now, and you really should be getting to bed, but the moment feels precious and serene. You stand still, slowly taking in the expanse above you, the gentle breeze on your skin, the chirping crickets deep in the forest. Eventually, though, you’ll have to go inside. You look back at Sans. He’s still lost in the stars above, looking just as awed as you feel. The moonlight gleams off of his bones, hauntingly beautiful, and his eyelights shine just like the stars he’s entranced by. You’re struck by how much he looks like he belongs in this moment. The goodbye dies on the tip of your tongue, but you realize you’re staring and force yourself to look away. You find your voice.

“Uhm, this is me,” you say, motioning to the cabin behind you.

“oh? right,” he says, “i gotta get home too. you don’t mind i’m cutting across your farm, yeah?”

“Not at all.”

“cool. see you around, then,” he says, nodding once before turning away. He slowly makes his way across the open field, and you watch him leave, gently transfixed until he disappears into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh wow this updated. sorry my chapters are all short, hope you enjoy nonetheless. still no beta, so please lemme know if there's any mistakes or anything.
> 
> i may actually have some semblance of a plot for this, but again idk how far i'll get.
> 
> world's particularly brutal rn, wishing you all the best and hope you're staying safe.


	3. The Saloon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: moderate alcohol use throughout basically the entire chapter

When Mayor Asgore asked you to set up a grange display, you failed to realize how much of your time you’d end up spending working instead of enjoying the Stardew Valley fair. There’s a bunch of people from out of town, and you spend a majority of the afternoon standing near your display and fielding questions that range from friendly and interested to suspicious and snooty.

By the time the sun starts setting, you’re veritably exhausted and your feet hurt like hell, but the fair shows no signs of slowing down. Some amount of distress must show on your face, because the sweet bunny lady whose stand is set up right next to yours tells you to go take a break while she watches over your stuff. You thank her profusely, and slip away from the crowds to try and find a secluded spot. The empty bench outside of Grillby’s is open, and you make a beeline for it. But then you see a frazzled-looking couple shepherding their young children in the same direction. You halt, clenching and unclenching your hands awkwardly. They take the bench; you make your peace.

Before you have time to search elsewhere, a familiar voice sounds from behind and startles you.

“heya.”

“ _Jesus_ Christ,” you manage to stifle a scream and it comes out as a hiss instead. The family on the bench glances in your direction. You smile awkwardly at them before turning to Sans. “Do you have to do that?”

“mmhm,” he stands there, looking way too pleased with himself — an expression you’re getting used to seeing on him. You shift from foot to foot in discomfort. Sans notices.

“you look like you could use a break.” He nods his head towards the saloon, the door of which is just behind him. It’s closed, seeing as Grillby is currently busy making burgers up by the picnic benches, but Sans pushes it open and walks into the bar with the confidence of someone who owns the place. But he’s definitely right about you needing a break, so you follow, noting how strange the inside looks with the lights off and no familiar faces to greet you. 

“Are… are we allowed to be in here?”

“uh.” He seems to consider it for a moment. “no, i guess not.” He goes behind the bar and starts pouring himself one of the drinks that’s on tap. You blink. “naaah, grillby and i are cool. i’ll just put it on my tab. he won’t mind. want a drink?”

You have some doubts on the legitimacy of Sans’s claims, but you also know that asking won’t actually bring you any closer to the truth, so you relent.

“Sure.”

You collapse into one of the booths, crossing your arms and resting your forehead against them. Sans finishes pouring two identical mugs, but takes them both and walks away from you, deeper into the saloon.

“couch is more comfortable, you know,” his voice echoes down the hallway. You make an indistinguishable noise of protest. He waits for a second. When you make no move to get up, he pops his head back into the room.

“c’mon. it’s worth it,” he coaxes. You lift your head up to look at him. The expression you level at him must be quite something, because his own expression softens considerably in pity. “aw, jeez.”

You bury your head back into your arms. You hear the soft pad of Sans’s footsteps, followed by the dull clink of him setting down your mug in front you. “never did sleep in on my behalf, i’ll bet.”

You don’t answer, instead letting out a sigh. The mug in front of you is one of the nice glass ones, the drink a bubbly beige color. You take a sip, surprised to find that it’s crisp and sweet — some sort of cider, and a fair bit tastier than the beer you had last time you were here.

Sans slides into the seat across from you, and you sit in silence for a bit. Outside, the valley is bathed in the warm reds and golds of the setting sun, and you melt into your seat, unable to do much more than zone out and enjoy the view. Sans seems equally content to do so, resting his chin in one hand while the other drums a steady rhythm against the table. 

The tap of bone on wood makes an unfamiliar, distracting sound, and your eyes end up wandering down to his hand. The bones there are thicker than they’d be on a human, the tips of his fingers more rounded. Before, you’d wondered what exactly kept his body together, but now you’re close enough to make out the faint, almost tendon-like threads that span the little gaps in his joints. You’re pretty sure they don’t actually glow, but the light that hits them shimmers and scatters iridescently, and once you notice it, it’s hard to look away.

Something about how monsters are made of magic doesn’t really sink in when you’re looking at a bunny, or dog, or lizard monster. Obviously they’re not human, but they feel no less earthly and familiar than any other animals, humans included. Then there’s monsters like Grillby, or the timid ghost that lives in the shack on the beach — monsters that so clearly couldn’t be made of anything other than magic, to the point where your brain doesn’t even try to rationalize their intangibility. Sure, the guy made of fire wears bowties and makes a mean mojito. Why the hell not.

And Sans is a little bit of both, perhaps? A physical body animated by magic? You frown. That feels too close to humanity’s concept of undead, and you don’t want to make such an uncharitable comparison. Sans is… well… short. And round. And a little bit enigmatic, but still very pleasant to be around, provided you give him time to warm up to you. And maybe he might be scary if he didn’t have those little lights in his eyes, but with them he’s disarming and honestly just kind of—

Kind of looking directly at you. Oh.

His head is turned slightly away, but he’s watching you out of the corner of his eye, and must have been for some time now. Your mind blanks.

“did you enjoy your first stardew valley fair?” he asks after a while.

“I — uh.” There’s no way he didn’t notice you staring. Is he choosing to ignore it for your sake, or his? It takes you far too long for your liking to respond. “Didn’t really get a chance,” you admit.

“aah, that’s too bad.”

“It’s alright, there’s always next year,” you say, trying to sound positive.

“yeah, there is.” Something about his tone is off, like he’s echoing your thought instead of actually agreeing.

Admittedly, you yourself are upset that you didn’t get to do anything fun at the fair. And at this point, you don’t want to go back outside and be faced with more responsibilities, so here you sit, tired and mopey. On top of that, the guy who used to avoid you like the plague went and made an effort to hang out, and you spent the past however many minutes staring at him in scrutiny, and then failing to maintain a conversation. You deflate. You kind of want to apologize for it, but you feel like he might just change the subject if you try. He’s shockingly good at getting the first word in.

“aw. here,” Sans says, picking up your mug of cider and holding it above your head. You glance between him and the mug.

“What are you doing?”

“lifting your spirits.” 

“Oh—” you blink, dumfounded, “my god.” The look you level at him is supposed to be withering, but he sees through it.

“don’t roll your eyes at me, it’s clearly working,” he says, handing the mug back to you.

“Cider’s not even a spirit,” you point out.

“alright, well then finish that drink and we’ll get you a different one,” he counters.

“Alright,” you agree. It might be a mistake to sign up for a second drink, what with your empty stomach and a day’s worth of exhaustion, but you’re willing to blame the cider you’ve already worked through for your future bad decisions. “Did _you_ get to enjoy the fair?” you ask belatedly.

“eh, i’ve already seen all there is to see of it,” he says, “it’s the same every year.”

“Oh.”

“guess how many times you can win at the spinning wheel game in a row before they accuse you of cheating and ban you.”

“Fifty. Wait, did you seriously get banned?”

“twenty seven,” he says. “if you play, bet on green. lands on it like three fourths of the time.”

“How exactly does one cheat at that game?” you ask.

“beats me. wasn’t cheating,” he shrugs. You raise an eyebrow. “alright, well,” he levels, “you could technically cheat at it, but it’d be pretty obvious to anyone who can recognize blue magic.”

“Blue magic? What’s that?”

“wait, you… really? uhh…” he blinks at you in disbelief. “it’s…” he glances around, searching for something, eventually settling on his mug of cider. He drains the rest of it and sets it firmly in the middle of the table. “this,” he says, pointing at the mug.

You watch as the mug is enveloped in a blue haze, then rises off the table and floats gently in mid-air. You reel back. You can feel just how strongly your eyebrows knit together in dismay. You reach out with one hand and paw at the space underneath the mug, and Sans snickers. He moves his finger up and down, and the mug follows.

“Oh, come on. No. How?”

“it’s gravity manipulation. but we usually just call it blue magic,” he says, as if that explains anything at all.

“But _how_ , though?”

“is it really that weird? you’ve seen encounters and stuff like that.”

“I’ve seen a bunch of magic but that doesn’t make it make sense.”

“hmm.” He sets the mug back down on the table. “you know how humans are, like, organic and stuff? like, there are explanations for how you breathe and walk and talk and stuff, but in order to piece it all together you have to dig super deep and understand a bunch of biology? if i ask you ‘well, how is it possible for you to think,’ you probably won’t be able to explain it in a way that makes a heck of a lot of sense to me.”

“Well, that’s…” you pause. “Neurons…”

He looks at you, blankly. “sure. point is, there’s a whole bunch of physics that explains how and why magic works, but i’m, uh,” he hesitates. “not a physicist.”

You sigh. “Yeah, I guess,” you acquiesce. “It’s really cool that you can do that, though.”

He looks slightly sheepish at that. “heh, thanks.” 

The sun’s fully set at this point, and you’re practically sitting in darkness, with only the lights of the fair faintly illuminating the room. Doesn’t seem like it’s going to slow down any time soon, though. It makes sense; the sun sets early in autumn. But despite feeling significantly more chipper, you still don’t really have the resolve to go back out there.

“hey, want to play a game of pool?”

“Yes,” you answer immediately.

“heh. sweet.”

You stand up and are met with a rush of lightheadedness. Oh, boy. This pool game might get a little difficult. You pause to let yourself adjust, then head over to the arcade. Although calling it that seems a little generous, what with the two arcade games and single pool table. Sans doesn’t follow you, instead returning to the bar to drop off the mugs, so you flip the lights on and set up the game yourself. You’re busy applying chalk to the tip of your cue stick when he returns, holding two glasses of something clear and bubbly over ice.

“gin and tonic,” he says, handing you the glass, “hope that’s okay.”

You try it. It’s stronger than your usual fare. You think if you hadn’t had that cider already, the taste would be a little much for you, but right now it’s fine, if a bit on the plain side.

“if you want something more impressive, you’ll have to hunt down grillby yourself,” Sans says, as if he can hear what you’re thinking.

“And admit we’ve been thieving? I’m good,” you shake your head. “I’m gonna let you handle that conversation.”

“oh, i was actually gonna frame you for all this,” he says.

“Wow,” you say, “okay, then, how about loser of this game pays for the drinks. You can break.”

His head turns to you so fast you can hear the click of his vertebrae. “you’re on.” The grin that meets you is vicious, and as he circles the table, you think you might have made a big mistake in giving him the first move.

Until, that is, the shot he lines up whiffs with a loud clatter, and the cue ball goes gently rolling about two inches sideways.

You let out one unintentional bark of laughter before putting a hand over your mouth to smother the rest. Sans looks up with a wry smile.

“no, no, no, no,” he says, one hand waving in your direction, “that means nothing. i’m out of practice. shush.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” you say, vaguely lifting your glass in his direction to encourage him to try again.

The second attempt is much cleaner, at least, and the game gets under way. You pocket the first ball and cheerfully claim stripes for yourself. Sans grumbles, but there’s no real heat behind it. As you sink one, then two, then three more balls, though, you can tell he’s sweating. Well, not physically. He is a skeleton, after all. A skeleton that’s going to be paying for drinks tonight. You smirk into your glass. You knew Undyne teaching you to play pool would pay off one day, even if most of those games devolved into wresting matches that you’d end up fleeing from.

You’re concentrating on lining up your next shot when Sans sidles up right beside you and whispers, “don’t fuck up.”

“You—” you snap your head around to stare him down, but it’s hard to sell it when you’re trying to keep yourself from laughing. He doesn’t flinch — just grins in that fake-innocent way of his. “I swear to god, Sans.”

“it’s a friendly suggestion,” he quips.

“You’re horrible. move,” you say as you elbow him gently away from you.

“horrible? who got you those drinks?” he asks, but he does back off so you can take a proper shot.

“I dunno, some guy,” you say. He makes a strangled noise, something between a choke and a squeal, before doubling over in a fit of laughter. You didn’t think what you said was that funny. Must be the gin, ‘cause his face is flushed a brilliant blue, and he has to lean on his cue stick to keep himself from falling over.

You turn back to the game. The move you want to make is a little difficult, with that side of the pool table as crowded as it is, but you’re doing well so far.

You shoot. The cue ball hits its intended target, but at such an angle that it ricochets on the edges of the pocket and doesn’t land, and the leftover momentum of the cue ball ends up hitting one of the solids into the pocket diagonal from you.

“No!” you shriek.

Sans recovers just in time to watch you score on his behalf and falls right back into his fit, crashing onto the couch for support. It’s honestly kind of adorable just how genuine his laughter is, even at your expense.

“Alright, alright,” you grouse, “you’ve still got catching up to do.”

“yeah, well…” you wait for him to catch his breath. “don’t get comfortable,” he warns, sliding off the couch and making his way back to the table. He braces himself on the edge, staring intently at the board in search of a good shot. He finds one and makes it, but misses the second, and it’s your turn again.

You easily make the shot you missed last turn, but then you’re left with no convenient moves. And tragically, drinking more is not the secret to getting better at the game. You try to determine the best possible angle in the hopes that it will make up for your steadily declining coordination. It doesn’t, and you miss. It’s back to Sans. He contemplates his next move, so you use the opportunity to finish off your drink, grab the two empty glasses, and return them to the bar. You’re not exactly sure where you’re supposed to put them, though. You’re not sure what the protocol even is for sort-of-but-not-exactly-thieving from Grillby’s. You should have asked Sans. Too late now; your brain is foggy and your balance is faltering, and leaving the glasses in the sink is the best you can do.

When you come back, you’re greeted with the sight of Sans clambered up onto the table, concentrating furiously on the wind-up of his next move. You snort. He’s actually so short he had to climb up on the table to aim properly. Amazing.

“aah, shaddup,” he grumbles, face turning just a hair bluer.

“Y’don’t have to put that much effort into losing, y’know.”

“nah,” he shakes his head, “come watch this comeback.”

“Oh?” You pick up your cue stick from where you left it leaning on the wall, and sit yourself down on the couch to watch.

He hits with a surprising amount of force, cleanly sinking one of the solids and sliding off the table so that the cue ball can roll freely to the other side. He watches it like a hawk, stalking over to the other side and almost immediately making another shot there. He scores again. You watch as the cue ball goes back and forth along the table, somehow positioned perfectly for each subsequent attempt. By the fourth time he scores, you’re not doing much more than staring at the table, mouth agape.

He makes the fifth shot, and the only solid left on the table is the eight ball.

“Holy shit. You’re hustling me! I’m being hustled!”

“hustled?” he muses. “‘m pretty sure you were warned.” He turns back to the table, but not too fast for you to see the smug look on his face.

“You were bad at first and it gave me false hope,” you pout.

“hehe. wasn’ intentional,” he says. He tries to sink the eight ball and just barely misses. “i really was just… really rusty at first. you’ve got another chance, though.”

“Lucky me.” You look down at the table. The game did get rapidly turned around, but you’re only two points behind. You could still win.

“y’know, if you’re not—” he halts mid-sentence. You wait. He doesn’t continue. You turn to give him a questioning look, and he’s not there. He’s not on that side of the room at all, in fact. You whirl around to check behind you, but instead of Sans, it’s Grillby who is standing in the mouth of the hallway, arms crossed.

“Wh— I, well. Uh, Sans was, and I— um,” you fumble. That bastard. He just straight up bailed on you. “I. This was his idea!” Now more than ever, you wish it was possible for you to read any sort of expression on Grillby’s face, but now that you’ve started talking it’s impossible to stop. “He said it was cool with you. Oh, geez, it’s already so late? I just remembered I have to run, I forgot I have to take down my stand,” you frantically roll the remaining balls into pockets and put the cue stick on top of the table, and run past Grillby, who stares you down as you leave. “Okay, good to see you! Let me know how much we owe for the drinks, okay, uhh, love you, bye!”

The door to the saloon slams shut behind you, and you lean against it heavily. Sans pops back into existence beside you, absolutely howling with laughter.

“What the— you absolute gremlin!” you shout, face heating up. “You left me like that?”

“i didn’t think you’d _run_ ,” he wheezes. “‘love you, bye?’ holy _shit_ , i can’t breathe.”

You bury your face in your hands. You’re pretty sure you’re not going to be able to see Grillby again without intense mortification, but at least your panicked rambling reminded you that you really did have to go back to your stand and take all your produce down. The bunny lady told you to take as much time as you needed, but maybe that shouldn’t have included impromptu drinking and pool games.

“Alright,” you say once you’ve both recovered a bit, “I’m beat. And I’ve still got to go deal with my stuff.”

“aw, but we’re not done with the game yet.”

You wave your hand, “Nah, you won that one. That was fun, though. We’ll play again sometime. Even if you’re unfairly good at pool.” He doesn’t respond for a moment, and you turn to him.

“yeah?” he asks quietly. He seems surprised, somehow.

“Yeah,” you blink. “Absolutely.”

“that sounds good.” He pauses. “alright. guess i’ll let you get back to your stand, then.”

“Mhm. See you later,” you wave.

He waves back, and you part ways. As you walk back to your grange display, the exhaustion catches up with you. The alcohol is definitely taking the edge off for your aching legs, but it’s also scrambling your brain. You don’t envy tomorrow-you.

Eh. It was worth it, you decide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow an actual update??? in this quarantine?
> 
> it was supposed to come a lot sooner, but this chapter ended up being longer than the previous two combined, and i didn't have the resolve to split it in two.
> 
> i have no idea how to write tipsy people, or how to write pool games. or humor either, really. so naturally i decided let's do all of those for some reason? i hope it worked out lol. also i firmly believe sans would be great at pool. and if you aren't great at pool yourself, undyne would MAKE you great, so that's canon now too. 
> 
> hope you enjoyed!!! (and pls let me know if you spot any mistakes)


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